Film and Television: My Cheat Code is AI

(Second update. I updated 10,000 words today. Please have some monthly votes, I really need them.)

Task force, meeting room.

All the fluorescent lights were on, blindingly white. Next to the enlarged map on the wall, several more whiteboards appeared, each holding a photograph with a magnet—Zhao Fei, Zhang Yang, Liu Yida, the Four Heavenly Kings, as well as Wu Jun, Huang Si'er, and Gu Yang. The photographs were connected by lines and circles drawn with red and blue markers, like some kind of chess game that only they could understand.

Yang Zhen stood in front of the whiteboard, holding a telescopic baton, which he hadn't extended. He wore a dark gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing a section of his muscular arm. About twenty people sat in the meeting room, some from Group Six, and others seconded from Groups Five and Four. No one spoke; only the occasional creaking of chairs and the sound of notebooks being turned could be heard.

Yang Zhen raised his hand and tapped the stick on the top photo on the whiteboard. The man in the photo was in his forties, with a square face, thick eyebrows, and a deep gaze. He was wearing a dark suit but no tie.

"This person is Zhao Fei."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word clearly reached the ears of everyone present.

The stick shifted an inch to the side, landing on a younger-looking photograph. The person in the photo was in their twenties, with clean features, calm eyes, and a faint smile at the corners of their mouth.

"This is Zhang Yang, Zhao Fei's confidant and also his driver."

Move the stick again.

"This person is Liu Yida, the strategist and finance director."

Move to the last four photos. All four men are wearing dark suits and sitting in similar postures, as if they were made from the same mold.

"These four people are the Four Heavenly Kings."

Yang Zhen put down the stick, turned around, and faced the crowd. The fluorescent light cast a cold white glow on his face, clearly illuminating his expression—not serious, but earnest. A seriousness that etched every detail into his mind.

"You must remember their faces."

No one spoke. Someone in the back row was writing in a notebook, the pen tip scratching across the paper with a soft, scratching sound.

Yang Zhen took two steps to the side and stood in front of the map. He pointed to two locations on the map—Wu Jun's and Huang Si'er's territories.

"Haida had a total of six gangs like Wu Jun'er's. We've taken down two of them. Gu Yang has also been apprehended."

He took his hand off the map and turned around.

"I suspect they're a bit panicked right now, but they won't show it. You may not know Zhao Fei, but I do. The more uncertain he is inside, the calmer he appears on the outside. That's his secret to surviving in this industry for so many years."

Old Zheng sat at the other end of the conference table, with an enamel mug and a half-pack of cigarettes in front of him. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and picked up where Yang Zhen left off.

"Now we need to monitor the remaining four gangs. We can't let them all get away."

His voice was a bit rougher than Yang Zhen's, with that unhurried, slow quality typical of veteran criminal investigators.

"but--"

He paused, his gaze sweeping across each person's face.

"Focus on the big ones and let the small ones go. We can't touch these four gangs right now. We'll deal with them after we've completely dismantled the Haida Group."

Yang Zhen nodded and took over the conversation. His speech was a little faster than before, as if he already had a complete blueprint in his mind and was just pouring it out.

"We will now proceed with three steps."

He held up one finger.

"First, eliminate the remaining forces of Wu Jun and Huang Si'er's group. The purpose of this step is not to arrest people, but to create a false impression for Haida—to make Zhao Fei think that we are only watching these two groups and have not noticed him."

The second finger.

"During this period, we must keep a close watch on the key personnel of Haida Group. We cannot allow them to leave the city."

The third finger.

"Second, arrest Zhao Fei, Liu Yida, the Four Great Generals, and this Zhang Yang."

He lowered his fingers.

"Third, wipe out this entire gang. Leave no one alive."

The conference room door was pushed open. Chang Baole stood in the doorway, one hand still gripping the doorknob, his face showing a suppressed excitement.

"Gu Yang must confess."

Old Zheng's hand froze in mid-air, cigarette ash falling onto the table. "What? Gu Yang wants to confess?"

Yang Zhen had already stood up, pushing his chair back with a short, sharp creak. He glanced at Old Zheng.

"Let's go. Let's take a look."

The two walked out of the conference room one after the other. The motion-activated lights in the corridor turned on, their dim yellow light following their steps.

Fu Man Lou, second-floor private room.

The food on the table was almost gone. The bones of the braised pork knuckle were piled up in a small dish, the plates of cold dishes were almost empty, and the wine bottles on the table were mostly gone. The air was filled with the aroma of stewed meat, the spiciness of baijiu, and the smell of smoke. Zhao Fei had already left, patting Zhang Yang on the shoulder as he went, without saying a word. The four big shots also gradually dispersed, and the private room slowly emptied.

Zhang Yang stood up, intending to leave. Liu Yida reached out from the side and grabbed his arm.

"Yangtze River".

Liu Yida had drunk quite a bit; his face was flushed, and his forehead was glistening, whether from the heat or the effects of the alcohol, it was hard to tell. But his eyes weren't drunk; they still held that shrewd, calculating glint.

"You've been good to your brother, and he knows it all too well."

Zhang Yang looked at him without saying a word. Liu Yida's hand was still on his arm, not too hard, but he didn't let go either.

"I understand that you don't want to get involved in company affairs." Liu Yida's voice was lower than usual, and his speech was slower, as if he were talking about something he had thought about for a long time. "But these are extraordinary times."

He paused, then patted his outstretched arm with his fingers.

"It's all thanks to you for coming out and helping your brother with his work."

He released his grip, turned around, and took a black leather bag from the driver behind him. The driver, who had entered at some point, stood silently in the corner. Liu Yida took the bag and immediately shoved it into Zhang Yang's hand.

The zipper of the bag wasn't fully closed, revealing stacks of blue hundred-yuan bills inside.

Zhang Yang gave a push, covering his bag with the back of his hand. "Brother Da, this—"

Liu Yida didn't let him finish. He pushed the bag forward a little more, not with much force, but with determination. The smile on his face faded slightly, and his eyes became serious.

"I'll need your help again tomorrow night, brother. Don't be so polite."

Zhang Yang looked into his eyes and didn't refuse again. He took the bag, which was quite heavy. "Then I'll thank you, brother."

Liu Yida smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and turned to walk downstairs. The driver followed behind him, their footsteps echoing one after the other on the wooden stairs, fading into the distance.

Zhang Yang, carrying the black leather bag, stood at the door of the private room and waited until the footsteps completely disappeared before going downstairs.

Stepping out of Fumanlou, a gust of cold wind swept in, instantly dissipating the little warmth he had managed to cultivate in the private room. The streets were quiet, the streetlights illuminating the paving stones, which were still damp from the rain a couple of days ago. Zhang Yang, carrying his bag, crossed the street and headed towards Haida Building.

He switched the bag to his left hand, leaving his right hand free, not in his pocket, but swinging naturally at his side.

When I returned to the company, the receptionist was gone. The computers were off, and the teacups on the desks had been removed, leaving only an empty countertop and a lit desk lamp. Half the lights in the hallway were off, making the room much darker, and the fire hydrant boxes on the wall appeared as gray squares in the shadows.

Zhang Yang walked to Zhao Fei's office door. The door was closed, and no light came through the crack.

He raised his hand and knocked twice. His knuckles tapped on the door, the sound echoing briefly in the empty corridor before fading away.

No one answered.

Zhang Yang waited a few seconds, then knocked twice more.

Still no one.

He gripped the doorknob and pressed it down. It was locked.

Zhang Yang stood in the doorway, withdrawing his hand from the doorknob. The corridor was quiet, save for the occasional gurgling sound from the water dispenser in the corner. Zhao Fei wasn't in his office. Zhang Li wasn't there either. Both were absent, and neither had explained their whereabouts.

He turned around and walked back down the corridor. As he passed the front desk, his pace unconsciously slowed. The desk lamp was still on, its light reflecting off the empty countertop, casting a small patch of white light.

He didn't stop. He walked out the door, went downstairs, and got into his car.

It was already dark when he got home. Zhang Yang lived in one of those six-story slab buildings built in the early 1990s, with pale yellow paint on the exterior walls that had turned a dull gray over time. The motion-activated lights in the stairwell had been broken for more than half a year, and no one had fixed them. He groped his way up to the third floor in the dark, took out his key, and opened the door.

I went inside, locked the door, and didn't turn on the lights.

He stood in the doorway, adjusting to the darkness for a few seconds. Light from the opposite building peeked through the curtains, casting a blurry white shadow on the living room floor. The outlines of the furniture slowly emerged from the darkness—the sofa, coffee table, TV cabinet—all old pieces that had been with the apartment since he moved in.

He placed the black leather bag Liu Yida had given him on the coffee table without opening it. Then he sat on the sofa for a while, his hands resting on his knees.

In the darkness, words surfaced in my consciousness.

Zhao Fei and Zhang Li were both absent from the company. Their whereabouts were not disclosed.

[Given Zhao Fei's changes to your arrangements this morning, the probability that Zhang Li's suspicions about you have been partially accepted has increased.]

[Recommendation: Reduce the time spent in the Haida Building. Minimize simultaneous contact with Zhao Fei and Zhang Li.]

Zhang Yang stared at the words for a while in the dark. Then he stood up and went into the bedroom.

He pulled out a set of clothes from the bottom of the wardrobe—a dark jacket, a gray shirt, and black trousers. After changing, he took a baseball cap from the bedside table drawer and put it on his head. He stuffed the clothes he had taken off into the wardrobe and closed the door.

Then he went out onto the balcony.

The balcony wasn't big, piled with several pots of long-dried-up flowers. The pots were left by the landlord; the soil was compacted and cracked. Zhang Yang climbed over the balcony railing, gripping the concrete edge with his hands, and found his familiar spot—the palm-sized platform atop the second-floor security bars. Then he let go, landing almost silently. His knees bent slightly to absorb the impact.

He squeezed through the gap between the buildings and reached the iron fence of the residential area. One section of the fence was bent, creating a wider gap than usual, just enough for a person to squeeze through sideways. Zhang Yang turned sideways, first past the shoulder, then the waist, and slid through the gap.

The metal bar brushed against my back, feeling cool and refreshing.

Outside the fence was a narrow alley, piled with several broken bicycles and an old mailbox. Zhang Yang walked to the end of the alley, pushed a slightly worn bicycle out from behind a pile of junk. The seat was covered in a layer of dust, which he wiped with his hand, then straddled it and rode out of the dimly lit alley.

The small shop is located in an old residential area in the east of the city. The storefront is not large, and the sign is a faded red cloth with the words "Convenience Store" printed on it. It looks white during the day, but turns grayish-yellow at night under the streetlights. Behind the counter sits a woman in her fifties with curly hair and reading glasses, reading a magazine with curled edges.

Zhang Yang pushed open the door, and the bell on the doorframe rang once. The woman looked up, saw him, and nodded without speaking. She then put down the magazine, walked around from behind the counter, went to the door, and pulled the roller shutter halfway down. She then slipped out from under the half-closed shutter, her footsteps echoing for a few steps before fading away.

Zhang Yang walked through the narrow door next to the counter and into the small warehouse at the back of the store. The warehouse was piled high with boxes of drinks and instant noodles, the cardboard boxes stacked all the way to the ceiling, leaving only a narrow passageway for one person to pass through. The light was a bare light bulb hanging from an electric wire, which swayed slightly when touched.

Qin Liguo emerged from behind the pile of cardboard boxes. He was wearing a drab gray jacket, and his hair was even whiter than when they last met. The wrinkles on his face appeared deeper in the flickering light.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice low.

Zhang Yang recounted Zhao Fei's changed arrangements. He explained that Zhang Li had come out of the inner room of Zhao Fei's office, that Zhao Fei had asked him to go with Liu Yida to pick up the goods, and that Zhao Fei and Zhang Li had disappeared at the same time. He spoke concisely, point by point, like a report, but his pace was a little faster than usual. After finishing, he paused and then added a sentence.

"Zhao Fei must be suspicious of me."

After listening, Qin Liguo remained silent for a few seconds. The light bulb above their heads was still swaying slightly, casting shadows back and forth across their faces. Then he nodded, his expression remaining largely unchanged.

"Okay. We'll take action tomorrow."

He looked at Zhang Yang.

"Remember, do not clash with your brothers. Your identity is currently kept secret."

Zhang Yang nodded. "Okay."

He paused for a moment, then spoke, his pace slower than before, as if carefully choosing his words.

"You must monitor the tension immediately."

Qin Liguo looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"This man has followed Zhao Fei for many years. It seems that Zhao Fei ultimately trusts him."

Zhang Yang's gaze appeared quiet in the dim light.

"But Zhang Li has weaknesses. He's timid, or rather, he's very shrewd. If you can keep him under control, he'll definitely confess under intense interrogation pressure."

Qin Liguo looked at Zhang Yang and nodded. "Okay, I understand."

He paused, his tone carrying a hint of explanation. "Right now, the task force is controlling the direction of the case. You can contact Lao Zheng directly."

Zhang Yang shook his head.

"We can't get in touch with them."

His voice wasn't loud, but he pronounced every word clearly.

"I'm under surveillance now. The police are investigating me very thoroughly. I can't reveal myself right now."

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it over. The paper was folded into a small square and was warm from his body heat.

"This is the pickup location and vehicle for tomorrow night."

Qin Liguo took the note, but without opening it, he put it directly into his pocket.

Zhang Yang pulled his hand out of his pocket and let it hang at his side. He stood under the swaying light bulb, his face flickering in and out of the light.

"The police have set up a full cordon. It looks like our next meeting will be at the station."

Qin Liguo looked at the young man in front of him. The light cut his face in two, casting shadows on the other side of his face. He wore a dark jacket, his shoulders were straight, and his back was unconsciously ramrod straight when he stood—a mark of police academy training that couldn't be hidden. He was only in his early twenties, but he looked much older than his actual age.

Qin Liguo reached out and patted Zhang Yang on the shoulder. His hand landed, then paused, not immediately removing it.

"Yes. I hope you'll be wearing your police uniform next time we meet."

Zhang Yang looked at him, his lips twitching as if a smile had formed, but it didn't fully materialize. He spoke, his voice softer than before.

"Thank you, Uncle Qin."

Qin Liguo's hand stopped on Zhang Yang's shoulder.

The name "Uncle Qin" echoed in the warehouse air, under the flickering light, amidst the boxes of instant noodles and beverage bottles. Something flickered in Qin Liguo's eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed once.

He nodded without saying anything. He withdrew his hand from Zhang Yang's shoulder, letting it hang at his side, his knuckles slightly bent.

Zhang Yang turned and left. He slipped through the narrow doorway, passed through the half-drawn roller shutter, and stepped into the night. The bell on the doorframe rang again, its sound particularly clear in the quiet alley.

He got on his old bicycle and rode back the way he came. The streetlights cast his shadow on the ground, lengthening, shortening, and lengthening again. A night breeze blew by, carrying the coolness of an autumn night.

He didn't turn around.

Branch office, Major Crimes Unit Six, interrogation room.

The light at the end of the corridor was out, leaving only an emergency light. Its pale light shone on the gray-green walls, casting a cold hue over everything. The interrogation room door was made of sheet metal with a small one-way window.

Yang Zhen pushed open the door and went in, with Lao Zheng following behind. Ding Jian was already inside, standing against the wall, holding a notebook in his hand.

Gu Yang sat in an iron chair, facing an iron table fixed to the ground. His wrists were handcuffed, the silver cuffs leaving two faint red marks. He looked down at the back of his hands. His hair was disheveled, and his lips were chapped and peeling. Compared to the Gu Yang who had held a Type 64 pistol to his chin in the villa just days before, he seemed like a completely different person.

Yang Zhen pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. The chair leg scraped against the floor with a short, sharp screech. Old Zheng sat in the chair next to him, while Ding Jian stood with his notebook open on the table.

Before I could even ask, Gu Yang spoke up.

Give me a cigarette.

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't drunk water in a long time, or as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. Ding Jian glanced at Yang Zhen and reached for the cigarette pack on the table. His fingers had just touched the pack when Yang Zhen pressed his hand down.

Yang Zhen pressed Ding Jian's hand down, took a cigarette from the pack, put it in his mouth, and lit it. The flame of the lighter leaped up, illuminating his face before dimming again. He took the lit cigarette out of his mouth and held it out to Gu Yang.

Gu Yang raised his head and looked at Yang Zhen. Their eyes met for a moment. The interrogation room was quiet, with only the hum of the exhaust fan in the corner.

Gu Yang took the cigarette, put it in his mouth, and took a deep drag. Smoke seeped from the corners of his mouth and nostrils, slowly dissipating under the fluorescent light.

He leaned back in the iron chair, looking at Yang Zhen, his voice still hoarse. "Yang Zhen, I remember you smoked too."

"I've quit."

Gu Yang took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it between his fingers. His fingers were still handcuffed, with a chain less than twenty centimeters long connecting his wrists. He looked down at his fingers holding the cigarette, and a slight twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth—it was hard to tell if it was a smile.

"If you give up all your hobbies for the sake of your health, life won't be very fun."

Yang Zhen looked at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. The smile was faint and vanished in an instant.

"Living healthily is a joy."

Old Zheng moved his chair forward, leaning slightly forward, his arms resting on the edge of the table. He looked at Gu Yang, his voice not loud, but every word he spoke was sincere.

"Gu Yang, we saved you, do you know that?"

Gu Yang's fingers, holding the cigarette, paused for a moment. "Save me?"

Old Zheng nodded. His gaze never left Gu Yang's face.

"You're a wanted criminal, and you possess far too many secrets. Should Haida Company keep you on, or get rid of you?"

Gu Yang's fingers hovered over the cigarette. A clump of ash had accumulated, teetering precariously. He looked at Lao Zheng, his lips moved, but he said nothing.

Yang Zhen took over the conversation. His tone was different from Lao Zheng's earlier—it wasn't an interrogation tone, but rather as if he were talking about something that both of them knew perfectly well.

"Gu Yang, we were classmates at the police academy. You know our investigative approaches."

He looked into Gu Yang's eyes.

"You should know in your heart what to say."

Gu Yang looked at Yang Zhen. The two stared at each other across the iron table. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The exhaust fan whirred in the corner.

Gu Yang took the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled a long plume of smoke. The smoke swirled in the lamplight, slowly dissipating. Then he threw the half-smoked cigarette on the ground, stretched out his foot, and stomped it out. The cigarette butt was crushed into a small, flat piece on the concrete floor, sparks flying, before darkness fell completely.

He raised his head.

"What do you want to know?"

Yang Zhen's gaze never left his face.

"What's the deal with the gun? How did Wu Jun get his hands on the submachine gun?"

Gu Yang lowered his head, then raised it again. His Adam's apple bobbed, and his chapped lips moved.

"Give me another cigarette."

Yang Zhen took out another cigarette from the pack, lit it, and handed it over.

Gu Yang took it and held it between his fingers. This time he didn't take a deep drag; he just held it there, watching the smoke rise from between his fingers.

Then he spoke.

Forty minutes later, the interrogation room door opened from the inside. Yang Zhen came out first, followed by Lao Zheng, with Ding Jian carrying the notebook at the back. The emergency lights in the corridor were still on, casting a pale light on the three men's faces. Yang Zhen walked to the window in the corridor, stopped, and leaned against the windowsill, looking out at the pitch-black night.

Old Zheng stood beside him, clutching the transcript Ding Jian had handed him. His fingers tugged at the edge of the paper, making a soft rustling sound.

"Good heavens." Old Zheng lowered his voice, but the tremor in his tone was unmistakable. "What is Haida up to? Ten pistols and four long guns."

Ding Jian leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His brows were furrowed, his expression a mixture of disbelief and acceptance. "Haida's doing this is suicidal. What is she trying to do?"

Yang Zhen didn't turn around. He was still looking out the window, and the sound came from the windowsill.

"Let's expand our strength."

His tone was flat, as if he were saying something he had expected long ago.

"This shows Haida's ambition."

Ding Jian straightened up from the wall, his voice rising slightly. "These guys, they really want to go against *&? " He paused, then added, "With just a few guns?"

Yang Zhen turned around and leaned against the windowsill. The night outside the window outlined his profile.

"You don't understand. Once you establish a power base, you have to expand. What's more, they have so many people to support. People need to eat, guns need to be fed, and territory needs to be defended. None of these things cost money, and none of them require guns."

Old Zheng flipped through the transcript in his hand, pointing to one page with his finger. The paper made a slapping sound as he tapped it.

"You see, Gu Yang's confession was very timely. Haida's batch of guns was transported by sea, so they had to take the road."

Yang Zhen walked back from the windowsill, stood next to Lao Zheng, and looked down at the transcript. His gaze swept across the paper quickly, but not hastily.

"These guns should arrive in the next couple of days." He looked up at Old Zheng. "I think we should focus our inspections on the highways leading to the coast."

Old Zheng thought for a moment and asked, "Is there any hope?"

Yang Zhen's finger landed on a line of text on the transcript.

"According to the information provided by Gu Yang, Highway 3 is the key point."

Old Zheng nodded, closed the statement, and tucked it under his arm. He had already turned and walked out. "I'll report to the bureau immediately."

He took two steps, then stopped, turning his head to look at Yang Zhen and Ding Jian. The corridor light cast his long shadow on the wall.

"You two, go through Gu Yang's statement again. See if there's anything missing."

Yang Zhen nodded. Ding Jian had already opened the notebook and started reading.

Old Zheng walked out along the corridor. His leather shoes clicked on the terrazzo floor, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. He pushed open the door at the end of the corridor, letting in the night, and then the door closed again.

He walked out of the branch office gate, got into his car, and started the engine. The headlights came on, two beams of light piercing the night. He had just driven the car out of the branch office compound when his phone rang.

He answered the call.

A few words were spoken on the other end of the phone. Old Zheng's expression changed, and his fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

"Okay, I'll be at the Municipal Bureau right away."

He hung up the phone, turned the steering wheel, and drove back onto the road he had come from, speeding into the night.